


Things That Don't Kill Us

by PolsVoice



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Amnesia, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Canon Compliant, Canonical Child Abuse, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-07-20 00:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19983028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolsVoice/pseuds/PolsVoice
Summary: After the events of Batman #71, Tim finds himself in Bludhaven looking for someone that he used to know.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to be as canon compliant as possible, though I stopped keeping up regularly with the comics shortly after this, so there could be mistakes.

It really hadn’t been hard to find Dick. 

No. Tim knows that’s wrong. Ric. It hadn’t been hard to find Ric. 

What Tim doesn’t know is why he had felt so compelled to run to Bludhaven of all places. But after tonight, after what had…after what Bruce…he doesn’t understand it. There’s nothing for him in Bludhaven. Not anymore.But still, here he is. Cold, wrung out and jaw aching like it would never stop. He can’t stop the hand that rises up to tenderly rest at his lower jaw. It was such a shameful reminder of what had happened. 

Every single person on that rooftop had offered to help. Barbara. Cass. Damian. And wasn’t that sad? Even Damian, the little demon spawn who hated his guts, had extended a hand and offered to let him stay with the Teen Titans for a few days if he wanted to, like he was one of Damian’s stray animals that just needed someone to take care of him until he could be released back into the wild. Tim couldn’t stomach any of it. The sympathy, the offers of help, the sad eyes looking at him from behind the masks. They were trying to help, he knew that, but the only thing they did was remind him of how utterly pathetic he was. 

He hadn’t taken the offers, not any of them. He’d shrugged off the sympathy, the whole damn thing, like it was no big deal that his guardian, his dad, had just…had just…. He did what he always did, what he was good at. He dusted himself off, put on a smile and told everybody hey, it’s no big deal! He’s had way worse on patrol! Who hasn’t, right? And then he’d left, telling them all it was just a scratch and that it was probably best if he just went back to Young Justice and laid low for a while. He’d said he’d be fine. He’d said to call him if there was an emergency even. He’d said he was going home.

But he hadn’t gone home. He’d thought about it but ultimately, he couldn’t go back and face the questions about what had happened in Gotham or why half his face looked like someone had struck him with a shovel. Kon would ask for sure. Bart wouldn’t stop asking until he had an answer. He’d have to tell them. Then they too would look at him with sad, angry eyes. Eyes that said they wanted to protect him from the evils of Batman, that implied he couldn’t protect himself from his own father. They would want to talk about it, all of it, and he just…couldn’t. 

Home was out of the question. For now. Still, there was a million and one places he could have gone. Jason’s. Steph’s. Clark’s even, if he’d asked. But against all better judgement, he’d gone to Bludhaven. 

The city was still the dumpster fire he remembered it as. A complete mess of dark, gloomy streets lit up by a thousand colourful neon lights. The waterfront always looked murky, more like oil and mud than sea water, though one could pretty much always smell the twinge of salt in the air amidst the unburned fuel and fast food restaurants. It had never felt this unfriendly before tonight, somehow. It wasn’t a nice place, it never had been. Tim knows just as well as any local that anyone in Bludhaven who seemed friendly almost always had an ulterior motive. He can’t think of a time he’d ever come here where he hasn’t been propositioned by a hooker or a drug dealer. Sometimes both. Sometimes worse. But…had it always been this cold? This twisted and debauched? Had it always been this lonely? Had he been looking at Bludhaven with rose-coloured glasses before or had it really changed? 

Tim pulls his hood a little further over his face as Dick’s...as Ric’s cab turns a corner onto the street he’s been camping out on. Every driver in Bludhaven has a route they’re expected to follow. Tim had memorized it when he and Dick used to patrol together more regularly. It seems like that had all happened a lifetime ago now. He and Dick kept saying they were gonna patrol together again soon. Just like the old days, they would say. Just the two of them. 

But they hadn’t. They were always too busy. There was always a mission or a crisis or some sort of personal problem to contend with. Things like reminiscing and having fun were simply pushed to the backburner to be dealt with once all the other, more important fires were put out. It all seems so petty now. So unimportant now that it was too late. 

Tim holds an arm out, hails the cab without much thought. He can hear the squeal of brakes as it comes to a stop in front of him. The cab clearly needs a brake job, front pads at least, in addition to about a hundred other things that have probably been neglected over the months and years. He can’t believe this is where Dick lives now. Some old, barely functional cab. He hadn’t believed it when Barbara had told them. He’d laughed. Dick? Homeless? With all the friends he had? But Barbara’s face remained sad and stoic. It hadn’t been funny after that. 

Tim slinks into the cab, hood still drawn up high over his face, backpack full of Robin suit tightly slung over a shoulder. He probably doesn’t look different than any other Bludhaven runaway right now and honestly, that’s exactly what he was going for. But his whole body’s on edge. Tense as he’s ever been. Tight as the piano wire in the baby grand that lived in the manor’s ballroom, even. 

He doesn’t know why he came here of all places. Dick…Ric won’t know him, and won’t care even if he does tell him they’re brothers. Bruce had told them all not to come here. Said to leave Dick be, let him have a shot at life without them. A normal life, he’d said, whatever that means. Tim hasn’t seen Dick in months, not since the hospital. He isn’t sure what it is that makes him unable to look at the man now. What makes his heart race and his blood course through his veins like a dam had just burst. 

“Kinda late for a kid to be out alone on the streets, don’t you think?” Dick’s voice rings out playfully from the driver’s seat. It’s not Dick’s voice anymore though, Tim reminds himself. It’s Ric’s voice. But it sounds almost the same as he remembers. Just hearing it makes his chest tighten painfully. Tim watches as Dick’s bright blue eyes meet his own in the rear view mirror. Kind, familiar, but with no recognition. 

“Maybe a little,” Tim admits, not knowing how much he can say, or do, before Dick…Ric starts to suspect something is up. He smirks playfully back in the rear view mirror. It reminds Tim of before, of the smirk Dick always gave him when he would tease him about some new geeky hobby he’d taken up or right before reminding him that he’d taken out more bad guys than Robin had on patrol that night. But it isn’t the same. It just feels different. Dick turns full on to Tim with a slight but distinct bounce in his movements that had become less common as Dick had aged. Bruce had told him on a couple occasions that Dick moved like that all the time when he was a child. 

“So where are you--,” Dick stops mid-sentence, his whole face falling in an instant, eyes filling with shock and worry. Tim purses his lips tightly and instinctively turns away a little, pulling his hood up just a bit more as he clears his throat. The action causes an ache in his jaw that radiates down his neck. He’s had worse, he reminds himself. Right now he needs to change the subject before it becomes a thing. 

“Jesus, what happened to your face?” Dick, Ric, asks before Tim can even attempt to answer the first question. Too slow. Dick was always the fast one in the family. And the caring one, Tim thinks as crestfallen blue eyes bore into him so hard he wouldn’t be surprised to find burn marks on the leather behind him. 

“Nothing, really,” Tim says immediately. He laughs softly, though it doesn’t sound convincing even to himself, “I guess I was talking when I should have been listening,” he adds with a shrug. It’s such a lame line, something he’d heard Roy Harper say once while they were all hanging out at Dick’s apartment one time. Tim didn’t even think it sounded cool then. 

God. Dick didn’t even know that he was dead. He and Roy had been friends forever. And Wally…Dick would be crushed if he ever found out what he had been through, what he had done. But it’s not like Tim could tell him now. What would he even say? ‘Hey, so there were these guys you totally used to be best friends with. You were like really, really close. Almost family. Anyway one’s dead and the other kinda killed him. Everyone’s sad and you should be too’? 

“I’m just heading to the bus station,” Tim says instead, his eyes falling to the floor mats. 

“Mission Street?” D…Ric asks him as he turns back to the wheel, back to business. He seems unsettled in a way Tim hadn’t expected. 

“No, 164th and Bailer,” Tim corrects him. 

“You sure? That’s across town. The Mission Street station is much closer,” Ric informs him with a single quirked eyebrow. 

“Yeah I’m sure,” Tim says. It’s not like he doesn’t know it’s farther. Mission Street’s only ten minutes away. He could have walked if he’d wanted to. He doesn’t really need to go to a bus station at all, in actual fact. He has options. The transporters, the bat plane, any of his fast or flying friends. Hell, Steph could have driven him back. She’s in Gotham right now, dealing with her dad again. 

But he didn’t ask her. He loved Steph, maybe more than anybody, but it was just…he just couldn’t talk to her about stuff like this sometimes. She didn’t get it. She didn’t get Bruce. He’d have spent the whole car ride listening to her rant about how much of an asshole Bruce was and that Tim deserved better and Cass deserved better and by the way? Did you hear that Bruce was a self-righteous asshole? Tim just…couldn’t right now, no more so than he could with Kon and Bart and Cassie. She didn’t understand. None of them did. Bruce was going through a hard time right now. He didn’t mean it, he…he couldn’t have meant it. Bruce was his family even if…even if he…

Tim is pulled from his thoughts, thankfully, as the cab pulls out in to traffic. They don’t talk at first, which is weird. Dick was always such a talker, even with strangers. The radio drones on quietly as they drive, some sort of classic rock station that doesn’t seem fitting. Maybe it goes over better with the customers or something? Maybe Ric just likes it? 

Tim finds himself unexpectedly disappointed with the silence. He has no idea what he was hoping for. Maybe it’s better this way anyhow. Dick should have died on that rooftop, but he’d lived. He’s different, but he’s alive. Here. Now. Maybe just being near him is enough, maybe Tim should be thankful for that and not want anything more. 

But…it doesn’t feel like enough. Not right now. Maybe it never will be.

Tim bites the inside of his cheek softly and turns his attention to the window on his right, anything to keep his mind off of the dark thoughts swirling around inside his skull. He concentrates on the simple things. Like now it looks like they’d gotten into the cab just in time, because those are definitely raindrops on the glass. Looking beyond that just reveals the usual late night bar crowd roaming the streets, rowdy and belligerent as ever, but otherwise pretty uninteresting. Tim nearly jumps when Dick…when Ric finally does decide the silence is too much. 

“You know, there are places you can go if you’re running from something. Bludhaven is a big place, you don’t have to hop a bus and leave forever,” He says kindly, like he’s speaking as Tim’s big brother again and not just some concerned stranger. For some reason that thought, that concern, hurts almost as much as his jaw. Tears well up in his eyes against his will, though he refuses to let them spill over. Not here and not now. Not in front of Ric. But holding back also leaves his throat too tight to say anything, so he says nothing in response, lets the silence drag endlessly until he sees Ric shift in his seat. “What’s your name?” Ric asks gently. 

“Tim. Timothy,” He corrects himself. Maybe he gives too much away just then, because when he looks in the rear view mirror there is a small spark in his brother’s vibrant blue eyes. But it’s gone just as fast as it appears. Tim thinks it’s a stupid idea even before he asks his next question, knows he won’t hear the answer he wants, but he still finds himself foolishly asking, “What’s yours?”

“It doesn’t really matter. I have a few apparently,” Ric replies with a bit of a laugh, though Tim thinks it’s anything but funny, “Most people around here just call me Ric,” he says finally. Tim’s heart sinks a little further into his chest, so deep that for a short moment he finds it hard to breath. That look in Dick’s eyes just a second ago…he knew the answer, but it still hurts to hear it. 

“Hi Ric,” Tim says tightly, helplessly, looking down into his lap. He probably should have just gone to see Jason instead, in hindsight. Though Jason would likely have just turned him away. It’s not like he’d want anything to do with them after what Bruce had done during the whole Penguin fiasco. 

It really should have been a clue in hindsight. If Bruce was willing to do that to Jason, to beat him that badly and then banish him from Gotham because he slipped up in a fit of anger, or abandon Dick in his hour of need, or let Damian do whatever it was Damian was doing these days without any supervision or restraints…why had Tim thought for even a second that he’d be spared? What made him so special? Clearly it had been nothing all along. How had he not seen this coming? 

“Hey, listen. I know you have places to be and all, and I won’t try and stop you or anything, but bus trips can be pretty long from what I hear and, well, I know a place that you could get a hot meal before you go,” Dick, no, not Dick, Ric tells him. Tim knows he should argue. Decline the offer. He really should. The longer he spends here the more chance he has of blowing his cover, of saying something or doing something that would be so obvious that even Ric couldn’t miss it. Barbara told them how nasty he’d been to her, how downright hostile he was toward any reminder of his old life. He was Ric now, he’d told her, and that was all he wanted to be. 

But he’d been Dick once, Tim’s older brother, and Tim can’t just forget that. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t forget all those nights they’d spent swinging from rooftops or all the days they’d spent talking about nothing and everything all at the same time. He’ll never forget the day he’d finally confronted Dick Grayson and asked him to be Robin again, because Batman needed a Robin, only to have Dick turn around and help make him Robin instead. Because Batman did need a Robin, and because Dick believed in him like nobody ever had before. That alone had meant so much to him, it still does, and Tim had never even told him. 

“I…you probably have places you need to be…” Tim says weakly. He’s sure he’s setting himself up for failure, just like he had a few hours ago on that rooftop with Bruce. But what did it matter anymore? It’s not like this wasn’t already the worst case scenario. 

“You’re my last fare of the night. And if I’m being honest, I was probably gonna stop there after I dropped you off anyway. You’d just be tagging along. It’s no trouble. Really,” he says. So kind and convincing, and for just a brief moment, it feels like things are how they used to be. Before Spyral, before Mr. Oz, before the bullet that took away his brother but didn’t. Just him, Dick and a night full of new adventures. 

“Yeah, okay. Dinner sounds good,” Tim says, as if he could have ever refused.


	2. Chapter 2

Ric smiles softly and nods, saying nothing as he turns down some grungy little side street. Maybe he’s afraid of scaring Tim off, or maybe he just doesn’t want to talk. Tim doesn’t know Ric and doesn’t know how to gauge his silence. It isn’t very long that he has to endure it. With a high pitched squeal, the vehicle comes to a complete stop in front of some old dive bar in a part of town that Tim can’t say he’s ever been to. It’s an ugly, aged building. The sort of place that most people wouldn’t even give a second look to before passing by towards greener pastures. 

“It’s not the nicest place, I admit, but the food is good and they let you run a tab,” Di…Ric. It’s Ric. Why can’t he just get that down? Says with a laugh. It really isn’t the sort of place Dick, or even Nightwing, would ever go without a reason. 

Tim wonders idly if they’ll even let him in, before he remembers he’s in Bludhaven. It’s not like they’re gonna check his ID here. Besides, Dick had snuck Tim into bars once or twice before to join him on one of those rare nights that Wally or Roy had convinced him that one night off wouldn’t kill him. He wouldn’t let Tim have anything more than sip or two of his beer, but it was still one of the coolest big brother things ever. Tim’s friends had all been so jealous when he’d told them, especially that first time. The whole ordeal had made him feel…special in an odd way. In a way he very rarely felt. In a way he certainly hadn’t felt in some time, especially after…tonight. 

“What do I owe…” Tim starts, but cuts himself off when he realizes Dick had never actually started the meter. Tim’s mind goes blank for a moment. Why would he not charge him for a ride all the way across Bludhaven? A glimmer of hope creeps into Tim’s mind…maybe he did remember just a little bit? But he doesn’t. Tim can tell by his eyes. It’s no wonder Dick wore a mask as Nightwing. His eyes always gave away too much. 

“Don’t worry about it. You looked like you really needed the ride,” Di…Ric says with a casual shrug and those same, kind, open eyes that Tim remembers from before. Dick gets out of the cab uneventfully, the hideous ornament that only he would love hanging from the mirror swaying as the door closed. Tim feels unsure, hesitates. What if Dick realizes it’s him? What if someone came looking for him…Steph might and she would probably tell Dick everything inadvertently. Or Bart. What if Bart showed up? He could…in a flash, even. But why would they look in Bludhaven? Tim jumps at the soft knock against the window, spins a little too fast and has to fight off a fleeting wave of dizziness. 

“You coming?” Dic…Ric asks gently, standing just outside the window with a casual, if forced, smile. Tim looks up at him dumb and wide-eyed for a moment as the raindrops slowly start to soak the hoodie his brother had decided to wear today. If one could call it that. It’s a battered old thing, stained and with a hole in the sleeve big enough to stick his thumb through. Dick had never been known for his fashion sense, quite the contrary much to his friends’ amusement, but it all looks so wrong. At least Dick used to care enough to put on clothes that didn’t look like he pulled them out of a dumpster. Doesn’t Ric care? Even a little? 

“Yeah, sorry,” Tim mumbles, opening the door, ducking his head as he exits. It hadn’t fallen any during the ride, but he still finds himself pulling his hood up around his face just a tiny bit more. Dick looks pleased as he shuts the door behind him and turns towards the sidewalk. 

D…Ric doesn’t look back as he walks into the bar. He has a casual, comfortable demeanor about him, like he comes here all the time or something. Tim follows much more cautiously, keeping his backpack, and by association his Robin suit, close as the bell on the door jingles. 

Dick was right. This isn’t a nice place. The carpet has stains older than he is and the clientele are all shady as hell. He’s pretty sure the one in the far left corner has a swastika tattooed on his forearm. Another has a prominent scar down her rugged face that looks like it may have come from a broken bottle. On top of that there are only a couple of staff on, neither of which look like they could do much more than call the cops if a fight broke out. 

No, it was not a nice place at all, and that’s only judging by what he could see in the first 20 seconds. It wasn’t nice and it wasn’t safe. Did Dick even know how to recognize stuff like that anymore? Did he know how to defend himself if things got out of hand? Dick seems oblivious, carefree even, as he waves Tim over to the bar next to a drunken man in a business suit. The woman behind the bar seems to know Ric, her purple dreadlocks cascading over her shoulders as she smiles nonchalantly, yet fondly at him. She might be the only person here who doesn’t make Tim’s skin crawl just a little. 

Tim sits down gingerly on the cheap cracking vinyl of the barstool and heaves his backpack up onto the water stained bar top with a thud. Dick watches at him the whole time as if he might bolt. He probably should have, like 20 minutes ago, but for some reason being around Dick, or at least the guy who used to be Dick, was the only thing that made him feel like things were normal again. It’s a staggering thought. How was it that this, of all things, was the thing that made him feel like things would be okay, even if they weren’t. When had Tim’s life gotten so messed up exactly? 

“You’re here early tonight, Ric. Nobody need a ride?” The lady behind the bar says with a single quirked eyebrow as she readies a glass. 

“I’m still working, seeing you is just one of the perks” Ric teases her lightly. Tim can’t tell due to her dark complexion, but he’s pretty sure she’s blushing when she turns away to pour a beer out of the tap. Dick sometimes had that effect on girls whether he meant to or not, but Tim can’t really tell if it had been intentional or not this time. 

“You brought a friend,” she says, gesturing to Tim. It causes him to shrink away a little bit. All of a sudden, it feels like he’s invading in something he shouldn’t be. He’s never liked being the centre of attention. Not like Dick does…did. And especially not tonight of all nights. 

“Oh yeah. This is Timothy. He’s my fare, heading to the bus station. He looked like he could use a meal, so of course we stopped here,” Dick says leaning back as casually as ever, as if it wasn’t weird at all to ask total strangers to join you for a meal at a dive bar. Maybe for Ric it wasn’t. 

“Tim is fine,” he tells them absently. Once upon a time, Dick knew that. 

The bartender regards him carefully as she slides a beer over to where Di…Ric sits. That alone sort of surprises Tim. It wasn’t like Dick never drank or anything, but a beer before his shift was over? At his job driving a cab? And the bartender passing the drink over like it was the norm? That was very un-Dick-like. Then again, Tim had noticed a flask in the cup holder of the cab earlier. He’d thought maybe a customer had left it behind, but…

“Nice to meet you Tim,” she says as she hands him and Dick menus. Tim looks over the menu, if one can call it that. Three types of burgers or nachos was really the vast majority of it. “Kitchen closes in 25 minutes and our chef does not do overtime, so try to pick something before he leaves. Oh, and no hoodies at the bar please. Company policy,” She says motioning to a small camera on the wall pointing directly at them. 

Tim’s blood runs cold. His hands clamp around the menu much too tightly. It’s not a big deal to remove the hood. It’s not. It’s just that…then everyone will see. Everyone will know. They’d know that he’d said the wrong thing and that Bruce, that his adoptive dad, had…he’d…the bruising would make it obvious. How stupid he’d been, how trusting. He’d become complacent. He hadn’t thought it all the way through, never thought that Bruce would lay a hand on him like he’d seen him do with Dick and Jason. It was so, so stupid…Bruce didn’t want him there. Never had. Why would he? Sure, Batman needed a Robin and all that, but he had a Robin. One he was actually related to. He never should have left Young Justice to answer Barbara’s call. He never should have…

“Hey, Tim?” Dick’s gentle voice cuts through the lame 80’s music and bar chatter. Tim turns to him, probably looking just as anxious as he feels, but Dick just looks back at him with soft, steady eyes. His brother’s eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I walked around here for weeks with a scar big enough to see from space. No one ever asked.” D…Ric tells him. It’s oddly reassuring. So much so that despite his better judgement, Tim finds himself lowering his hood. 

He doesn’t miss the way the bartender turns away once his hood is down fully, or the way the businessman beside him narrows his hazy eyes in confusion. He can feel Dick’s gaze on him too, but as promised, he doesn’t ask. No one does. It must look bad though. It feels bad. His whole jaw hurts, his neck and shoulder, the hip he landed on when he finally made contact with the ground. Last he’d looked, most of the right side of his face had been starting to bruise and swell. That was a couple hours ago. It probably looks worse now. 

“You boys let me know when you’re ready. I’ll just be over at the pool table getting the regulars another round,” The woman behind the bar says politely as she starts to walk away with her tray. 

“Any idea what you want?” Dick asks him, perhaps trying to distract him from his thoughts. From the odd stares he’s starting to draw from ‘the regulars’. 

“Um…I don’t know. What are you getting?” Tim asks. Nothing looks appetizing. Chewing is gonna be a bitch and it doesn’t look like they serve soup here. 

“Chicken strips,” Dick says immediately. At least some things haven’t changed. Tim actually finds himself smiling a little remembering Jason’s teasing words every time Dick ordered that in his presence. ‘Seriously? What are you, Dick? Five? Chicken fingers go on the kids menu’. Dick had always been so annoyed by it, often biting back that so was spaghetti, but Jason wouldn’t have complained if he’d ordered that. Tim had laughed at the both of them, but never stepped in. There was no need to, really. Dick and Jason had always gotten under each other’s skin, but that’s just what brothers do. Did. 

“That sounds good, actually,” Tim says. At least he thinks he can eat that. Its way less intimidating than a burger at any rate. 

“You’ll like them. Everyone likes the food here. It’s not fancy or anything, but that’s nice, you know? Simple,” Dick offers after a long swig of beer, “There’s a really good place down the street too. Brasov’s. You ever had Romani food, Tim?” He asks. Tim has, of course. Alfred would make it once in a while when Dick came by. Every birthday, for sure, and whenever he thought Dick was feeling a little homesick. Sort of like how latkes would appear for Tim if he was over-tired or sick. 

He had been so surprised the first time. He’d only mentioned off-hand once, maybe twice, that latkes were one of the only things he could remember his mother actually cooking. It was after a double all-nighter he’d pulled a couple months into being Robin. Tim had left terrible, both physically and emotionally. He was wondering if he was cut out for the job for the millionth time and he was so tired that he wasn’t sure if he could hold his head up long enough to get through the rest of the case files he needed to memorize before school started. Alfred had stepped in sometime before the sun rose that day and told him, cryptically of course, to change and come to the kitchen. Tim had thought maybe he’d fallen asleep after all when he smelled latkes of all things, but he hadn’t. Alfred was so nonchalant about it all, simply saying that he thought Tim could use a snack before bed. Ever since that night, whenever he spread himself too thin and Alfred found out, it was always latkes and then straight to bed. 

But Tim didn’t think latkes and sleep would fix his troubles tonight any more than goulash and cozonac would fix Dick’s. 

“Yeah, I’ve had Romani food once or…” Tim starts, only to be cut off by the ring of an old flip phone. Dick’s phone, apparently. Ric’s phone. Tim hadn’t even known he had one. Makes sense, he supposes, it’s not like he’d have given any of them his number. Ric pauses, takes a look at the screen, turning slightly serious and withdrawing. 

“Sorry, I gotta take this,” Ric says waving the phone around for effect. Tim’s eyes narrow slightly. He knows he does because it causes his cheek to ache at the motion. He relaxes his face after that. After all, it could just be Dick’s…Ric’s boss calling. 

“Hey, no problem,” Tim says with a small shrug and a grin that feels sort of fake. 

“Don’t leave, okay? I’ll be right back,” Dick says…Ric says as he takes a step towards the door. His body is still turned towards Tim almost fully though, his expression hopeful. 

“I’ll…I’ll be here,” Tim says. He shouldn’t be here. He should never have come, but a part of him, a really big part of him, is so glad he did. This almost feels like before somehow. Before Spyral, before Damian, Before Ric. Before Bruce. It’s not perfect. Dick probably thinks he’s just helping out some runaway kid, but it’s enough to keep Tim in place against all his better judgement. 

“So what’ll it be?” The bartender, now returned, asks. She’s carrying a tray of empty beer glasses with a single steady arm. Tim starts a little when she enters his vision. He’s jumpy tonight. Not just because of Ric. Because of Bruce too…because of…it had all been so sudden. It scared him in a way he hasn’t felt in a while and he hates that. It wasn’t like him to jump at his own shadow like this. 

“Chicken strips, for both of us. He’ll do plum sauce, I’ll do BBQ,” Tim says simply. She nods, jots it down on some paper that seems to come out of nowhere. A moment later she dings a bell and slip the order over the pass into the kitchen. 

It’s an awkward silence while Tim waits for Dick to return. The bartender seems undisturbed as she collects glasses into a plastic bin. Does she know he’s underage? She must, but she doesn’t seem to care much. Tim nearly jumps again when her eyes scroll towards him lazily, yet knowingly. 

“You know him, don’t you?” she asks, though he doesn’t really think it was meant as a question. Tim looks up, shocked. It feels like the floor’s just fallen out from beneath him. How could she have possibly known? 

“No. no I…we only just met now,” Tim stammers, wincing at his own attempt to shake his head. His neck is still too sore for that. She just looks at him with a steady gaze, one eyebrow quirked. He knows that look. It’s the one he associates with both Alfred and his mom. The look they always gave him when he was caught in his own web of lies. Busted. Exposed as the fraud he was. Bruce had given him that look once or twice…not that he’d be doing that again anytime soon. Not after… “What gave it away?” Tim asks quietly, playing with some water on the bar top. 

“Your backpack. There are only two kinds of people around here who carry around Gotham Knights merch. People from Gotham, and people looking for a fight,” She jokes, “My bet? You’re from Gotham. And just about everyone I’ve had come down here from Gotham in recent memory have something to do with Ric,” she explains straightforwardly. He likes this woman, she seems smart, but Tim frowns at her none the less. He knows about Barbara’s adventure in Bludhaven, but this woman implies that there were more unwelcome visitors at some point. “The old guy who pays his bar tab is my favorite,” she adds with a smirk and a soft laugh. 

“Alfred’s been here?” Tim asks in surprise. The woman nods. 

“Alfred, Barbara, Donna, Jason, some redhead who wouldn’t give me his name and, now, you,” she tells him. The list does and doesn’t surprise him at the same time. Dick had surrounded himself with so many friends and family…once. So many people who cared, loved him, and who he loved back with every beat of his heart. Now…now he couldn’t care less about any of them. Had he turned all these people away too? Alfred? Donna? The red haired man that could easily have been Wally or Roy? Had they tried? Confronted him? Jason probably hadn’t. It wasn’t his style. Plus while he and Dick loved each other like family, like brothers, they were always antagonistic toward one another. Even the most innocent conversations could turn into a fight between them and Jason has more than enough foresight to know that that wasn’t going to be productive. 

“So who was he to you?” she asks, softer this time. He thinks she knows the question will hurt him as much as it has probably hurt everyone else she’s asked before him. 

“He was my brother,” Tim chokes out, his voice giving out after only four small words. Was. Dick had been his brother, whom had loved him and looked out for him. Had taught him how to fight, taken him to baseball games and given him advice about girls. He was the person Tim went to about the real stuff, the important talks. And now he was gone, except that he wasn’t. 

A part of Tim, a twisted, dark, selfish part, wishes he’d just died up on that rooftop. Dick being gone would be better than Dick being there but…not, wouldn’t it? The thought disgusts him, fleeting as it is, and he knows he’s a bad person for even thinking it. Maybe that’s why Bruce…maybe that’s…

“I’m sorry,” she tells him. He can see the sincerity in her dark eyes. She really does mean it, for what it’s worth. 

“It’s okay,” Tim tells her, turning away so she won’t see the shimmering in his own dull blue eyes. It’s really not okay. None of it is, but that isn’t her fault. “Don’t tell him, okay?” he asks her, pleads with her. 

“Your secret is safe with me. Wouldn’t be the first one I’ve kept around this place,” She tells him, just as Dick’s form comes back in through the back door, letting a rush of cold, damp air into the poorly insulated bar. In an instant the bartender is gone with a tray full of beer, leaving Tim alone with his thoughts and his stubbornly watery eyes. 

“You’re still here,” Dick says, pleased as he sits back down. Tim sniffles softly and nods, even though it hurts to do so. 

“Yeah, I should really go though. I…I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get tickets if I wait too long,” He says. He can’t even bring himself to look at the man who he’s called his big brother since he was 14. His resolve has left him. He’s a nervous wreck. A fraud. If the bartender noticed, how long would it take for Dick to…would he do what Bruce did too? Dick wouldn’t, but Ric? Would Ric just…turn on him when he said something he didn’t like? 

“I’m pretty sure there aren’t too many other people riding the bus at 2am,” Dick…Ric points out. His words are noticeably careful this time. His expression is gentle, shoulders relaxed, his hands left out on the bar top where Tim can see them. All of it is done intentionally. Tim can tell. 

“No. No I guess not,” Tim admits with a soft sigh. It was a lame excuse and he’d known that even before he’d tried it. What was wrong with him tonight? He couldn’t even lie properly. 

“See? Nothing to worry about,” Dick assures him, taking another long drink from his beer glass. Tm feels like he may have been talking about more than just the bus schedule, but he can’t know for sure. It’s probably wishful thinking. Most of this night has been nothing more than wishful thinking. Dick’s expression turns strangely quizzical as something catches his eye. Before Tim can figure out what exactly has caught his gaze, Dick surprises him by asking, “Oh hey, is that a real Gotham Knights backpack?” 

“Uh…yeah,” Tim says sheepishly as a plate of food is placed in front of him by someone who looks a little like Santa Claus if he’d joined a biker gang. To Ric’s credit, it does look pretty good. 

“Thanks Larry,” Dick tells the man quickly before turning back to Tim with bright eyes, “You a fan? They made it all the way to the finals last year,” D…Ric comments as he swipes a chicken strip from the pile on his plate. Tim pauses…gives himself a minute while the pieces click into place. Last year Dick was still Dick. Is the Knights making it to the finals something he remembers or is it something he heard about? It’s too much to hope for, but Tim tries anyway. 

“Kind of. Me and my brother…um…we used to go to the games together,” Tim says, but he can’t look at Dick, at Ric, while he says the words. He has no idea if that same small spark like the one he saw in the cab glosses over his eyes again or not. 

“You have a brother? Where is he now? Maybe he can come pick you up?” Dick suggests. His whole body perks up at the mere thought. Practically buzzes with excitement. Any small scrap of apatite Tim had vanishes instantly at the comment. He’s right here, he wants to say. My brother is right here. He wants so badly to tell Dick, Ric, or whoever he is, that he’s right there and he’s his brother and then maybe Dick will understand and take him somewhere where they could talk. Somewhere where Tim could tell him what actually happened to his face and Dick could tell him that things would be okay…god, if only…if only…

“He’s not around anymore,” Tim mumbles into his fries. 

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Dick says. His whole body sags with the revelation, a sadness creeps into his eyes. A deep sadness. He doesn’t ask anything, not a single follow up question, but Tim can see he wants to. Tim doesn’t offer up any information. 

The silence drags on between them a little too long. Tim picks at his fries, absently dipping them in ketchup every so often as Dick lifts his beer glass to drink once, then twice. Long swigs of beer that Tim has never seen Dick take before. That’s because it isn’t Dick drinking that beer, Tim has to remind himself for the thousandth time. It’s Ric. Ric drinks beer like a frat boy who just found a twenty on the sidewalk. 

“I’m from Gotham too. Kind of,” Ric tells him after a bit. At least he and Dick still have one thing in common; they don’t do well with silence. Tim cringes a little at the looming conversation, the amount of ignorance he knows he’s going to have to convey. But this is what he wanted, wasn’t it? 

“You are?” Tim asks, finally picking up one of the chicken strips he’d been ignoring. He still can’t bring his eyes up to meet anyone else’s. Not Dick’s. Not the bartenders. Not the clearly drunken man beside him who keeps on staring at his face. 

“Kind of. I grew up there, apparently. Called it home for a while. Then I moved here to get away from it. It’s not like anyone actually wants to live in Gotham, right? Not anyone sane anyway, best I can figure. I don’t really remember living there, but that’s a long story. Before that I traveled with my parents a lot. Like, all over the place. The US, Canada and Europe mostly, but we toured Asia and South America a couple times. We just sort of lived on the road. That, I do remember a bit of. Again, long story,” Di…Ric tells him with a small chuckle that Tim finds almost insulting. It’s a long story indeed, much longer than Ric ever cared to know. In fact, he’d gone out of his way not to hear any of it. 

“So…so if you’ve been to so many places, how do you know which one is actually home?” Tim asks, surprising them both. He hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud but…but if Dick were here, the real Dick, it would have come naturally. Ric, however, looks a little surprised at the question, certainly contemplative. For him it comes out of nowhere, but for Tim? Maybe not as much in hindsight. He had no particular ties to Gotham itself. Especially not after tonight. Gotham was where he grew up, sure, but he didn’t love it. Bruce loved Gotham. Jason loved Gotham almost as much, but Tim? Dick? Tim and Dick had always just loved helping people. They’d spoken about it plenty of times over the years. The location wasn’t crucial, so long as they were needed. Though neither of them had much desire to stray too far from the family. God, how things have changed. Tim’s jaw aches at the very thought. 

“I mean…,” Ric stumbles a little on his words, leaning back from the bar top a little as Tim absently plays with his chicken strip, “Home is where you make it, isn’t it?” Ric asks, sounding a little unsure of the words. It was probably a little unfair of Tim to ask such a thing when Ric was still trying to figure out who the hell he is, never mind where he wanted to call home. But the question hadn’t really been for Ric, had it? 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so,” Tim says solemnly, unsure of what else to say. Dick, Ric, still seems a little shaken by the question, so Tim uses the momentary pause to take a bite of his chicken strip. The flash of pain that shoots up the side of his face is unexpected, so much so that he actually drops the chicken back on to his plate as he brings a hand up to his mouth “Oh. Ow.” 

“Tim? You okay?” Dick says urgently as he leans in toward him. Tim’s eyes flash towards him as he moves, wide and probably glazing over with tears again before he can hide it fully. 

“Yeah. I think one of my molars is chipped. It’s not that bad, I’ll just eat on the other side,” Tim tells him. The pain is fading, leaving only a numbness in its wake, but the pain in his chest will linger for much, much longer. Tim knows exactly how much force it takes for a fist to chip a molar and to think that Bruce…to think that he…to him…why did Tim have to say anything? None of this would have happened if he’d just not said anything. Why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut? He isn’t Bruce’s real son. He isn’t even Bruce’s favorite. What made him think…?

“You sure you wanna go to the bus station, Tim? Bea knows a couple places that you could stay a few days if you want to…” Di…Ric…tells him tactfully, his food and his beer largely forgotten as he showers his attention all on Tim. But it isn’t real, it isn’t the love of a brother or even the caring eyes of a friend. He’s a concerned stranger, nothing more, nothing less. And it’s probably all he ever will be, so Tim resigns himself, promises himself that he won’t try again. Not ever. 

“I’m sure,” he tells Ric quickly. He still can’t bring himself to look anyone in the eye. 

~~~

The ride to the bus station is quiet minus the steady drone of the classic rock station and the occasional thunk of the tacky ornament Di…Ric kept hanging from the rear-view mirror against the windshield. Dick had tried to make small talk a few times, but Tim wasn’t in the mood for it. 

Tim never puts his hood back up. There’s no point. Everyone’s already seen his face. Even he grimaced when he caught sight of his own reflection in the window of Ric’s cab. It was bad, getting worse. Even his eye was starting to get bloodshot from the blow. Bruce must have held back a little though, because by the way it was looking he got off easy with just some bruising and a chipped molar. His jaw should be broken at least, probably his cheek too. So either Bruce had held back because he didn’t really want to hurt him…or he held back because he didn’t think he needed to use his full force to take him out. The thought makes him confused, and oddly afraid. So afraid that he has to shove his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking. 

“Okay. The 164th and Bailer bus station,” Ric says just before the cab squeals to a stop. He shuts off the ignition, turns to look at Tim with concerned, sympathetic eyes. But Tim knows he won’t stop him. He wouldn’t have before, when he was Dick, there’s no reason for him to now. Tim isn’t even sure where he’s going to go after this. Not back to Young Justice, not until he can get himself under control enough to explain where he was. Or at least until the swelling goes down. Whatever happens first. Maybe Metropolis? But even despite everything, he doesn’t really wanna get Bruce in trouble with Superman… “Tim?” 

“Here,” Tim says, suddenly jolted back to reality. His hand is much steadier now as he holds some money out for Ri…Dick…no, Ric to take. He just stares at it at first, wide-eyed and confused, before holding a hand up with a soft smile and shake of his head. 

“Don’t worry about it, kid, this one’s on me,” he tells him, as if it’s no big deal. As if wasting his whole night on Tim, on some kid he doesn’t even know, was some sort of privilege. 

“No, really. I’ve got money. And you’ve been…you’ve been really nice to me tonight,” Dick is about to protest, Tim can tell. He may not call himself Dick anymore, but his mannerisms aren’t as different as he seems to think they are. Tim could always see clear as day when Dick was going to argue. “At least let me cover the gas you used,” Tim pleads with him, his voice sounding small and weak as he holds his arm steady. Ric sighs softly and takes a 20, but won’t take the rest. Tim knows it’s the best he’s gonna get. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you to the door. It gets pretty sketchy around the bus stations this time of night,” Ric offers with a tilt of his head towards the bus station. 

“You don’t have…” Tim starts, but Ric is out of the cab before he can finish the thought. Tim reacts immediately, practically flying out of the car as he exits, steadying himself with an arm against the cab to fight off the small wave of dizziness that follows. “It’s okay, I can take care of myself!” he tries to explain to Ric, who doesn’t seem alarmed as he turns back to look at him. There’s something in his eyes, an easy earnestness that only he can pull off. 

“I know you can, but you don’t always have to,” Ric says with a shrug. It’s a casual statement for him, common sense even, but it makes Tim’s whole world stop for an entire heartbeat. 

Dick used to say that to him all the time. Every time Tim took on too much without realizing, or had a bad night on patrol, Dick would appear out of nowhere, usually in Nightwing gear, sometimes over the phone if he couldn’t get away from Bludhaven or Titans Tower or wherever he was at the time. It was always the same argument. Tim would say he was fine, Dick would say he wasn’t. Tim would say things were under control, Dick would say he knows that. Then Tim would get annoyed and tell Dick he could handle this himself, and Dick would always say the same thing after that. He knows Tim could handle it solo, but he didn’t have to. Not long after that, someone would show up to help. If not Nightwing himself than usually another Bat, but a Titan or two had shown up on occasion. 

He didn’t realize how much he’d missed that until now. He’d always thought it had been kind of nice of Dick, but more so than that, kind of annoying. It was inconvenient as Robin, trying to forge your own path and prove yourself to Batman all at the same time, to have your meddling big brother step in half-way through the mission to hold your hand. But now…he doesn’t look at it as an annoyance anymore. Dick always had his back, always looked out for him, even when he was ungrateful for it. He was probably Tim’s biggest supporter, not just on the field as Robin, but…everywhere. In everything. It hits him harder than Batman’s fist when he realizes that he’ll never have that again. 

But still, he moves. Following behind Dick, shoving the feelings down like he always does. Maybe tonight he’ll freak out in some hotel room somewhere, or maybe he’ll feel nothing at all. It isn’t Dick’s, Ric’s, burden either way. Not anymore. He doesn’t need or deserve Tim’s problems. 

“So where are you headed?” Dick asks him as they walk. It isn’t far to the doors of the bus station, but neither of them are in any sort of rush it seems. The air is cold now, damp even though the rain had stopped sometime during their stay at the bar. It sends a chill right through his hoodie and straight into his bones. Dick doesn’t seem to notice, but why should he? They’re both used to cold, dark nights with only a Robin costume and Batman’s disapproving glare to keep them warm. 

“San Francisco. I’m gonna stay with some friends,” Tim tells him. It’s not a lie, really. He is going to end up there eventually. 

“Long way to go visit friends. Like, three days long,” Dick says with a hint of a laugh in his voice. Under the streetlamps orange glow, Tim can even see a bit of mirth in his eyes as they turn to him. 

“Kind of, yeah. But I don’t have any reasons to stay here,” Tim says, a touch of bitterness clouding his tone before he corrects himself, “besides I have an mp3 player and free wi-fi on board,” he says, trying to play it off as a joke. But nothing about it is really funny. When he’d responded to the call from Barbara, he’d never thought he’d be fleeing Gotham with his tail between his legs only a few hours later. Looking up the guy who used to be his brother in, what? Some desperate attempt to tell himself that people used to care? 

“Are they…good friends?” Dick asks, somewhat carefully, slowing his steps as they approach the double doors of the bus station, moving aside slightly so that others can enter and exit if needed. Not that anyone hanging around near the parking lot look like they were here to travel. 

“Yeah, the best,” Tim says, the first confident thing he’s said all night. The only thing he hasn’t second guessed or doubted. Kon, Cassie, Bart…at least he could count on them. For anything. That he was still sure of, at least. Although tonight…tonight it had almost felt like he’d gotten his big brother back too. Almost like…he still had one family member who cared, even if only a little. Maybe it hadn’t been a complete mistake coming here. In a strange, twisted way, it had made him feel better. Not good, granted, but better. 

“That’s good. Take care of yourself out there, okay? And if you find yourself back in Bludhaven, you know where to look me up,” Dick tells him with a friendly pat on the shoulder that Tim melts into just a little too much. The words are genuine and even though it hurts to do so, Tim smiles, takes comfort in the fact that Dick had basically just…what? Invited him back if he wanted to come? Yeah. Yeah he thinks he just did. Dick didn’t hate him. Maybe that was all he really had wanted all along. “But until then, you’d best get going. You have a bus to catch, after all.” 

“I do. Thanks for everything, Dick,” Tim says. 

Tim watches as Ric’s eyes widen in horror. Then feels his own do the same. There’s nothing to do now but wait for the world to come crashing down around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how this came out in the end, so hopefully it's both coherent and somewhat enjoyable. I can't thank everyone who left comments and kudos so far enough, it really does mean a lot.
> 
> Anyway, the third chapter is coming, but will be a little delayed, because I decided to edit it into oblivion and it's basically brand new. 
> 
> As always, let me know if you notice any mistakes!


	3. Chapter 3

“Ric! I said Ric!” Tim says in a rush of words between the heavy beats of his heart against his chest. He recognizes the emotion as panic, though it feels almost foreign to him all at the same time. Like everything is happening outside of his own body.

“Oh my god. You’re one of them,” Dick says as his whole face transforms from shock into horror. He’s put the pieces together, of course he has, and he doesn’t like the picture on the puzzle. He doesn’t like it at all. Tim can see the disgust and betrayal, the hurt, so clearly. But that isn’t what Tim had intended! Dick needs to know that! If nothing else tonight, if nothing else ever, Dick has to know that he didn’t mean to do this!

“N…no, it…it isn’t like that!” Tim tries to explain, tripping over his own words, hands up in front of him. He can barely breathe, can barely think. It’s surprising his mouth had formed any coherent words at all.

“How many times do I have to tell you people to leave me the hell alone?! I’m not Dick! Not anymore! You’re all just gonna have to accept that!” Dick, no, Ric, exclaims loudly, tossing an arm to the side angrily as the words permeate the air around them. Tim flinches, he can’t help it after the last time an arm swung around that close to him, but he has more important things he needs to focus on than where D…Ric’s arm is gonna land. 

“I…I didn’t mean to…” Tim tries again meekly. Why now? He was doing so well, he was feeling better! Why did he have to slip up right at the end? This wasn’t like him. And now Dick…Ric won’t even let him explain. Just like Bruce wouldn’t…wouldn’t…

“What don’t you understand? I don’t want to talk to you! I don’t want to be Dick Grayson! I don’t want anything to do with Dick Grayson! Not his ‘life’ or his ‘responsibilities’ or any of his so-called ‘family’!” Ric practically screams into the night. The kids that were hanging around across the parking lot have vanished, a light rain has started to fall and Tim’s panic is quickly transforming into something else. Something visceral and desperate that he can’t identify if he tried. How could he…everything Dick built, everything Dick was…Dick loved his ‘so-called family’ more than anything else in the world! How could Ric not see that? 

“I know! I know that!” Tim pleads with the man he used to call his brother. The man he really wants to call his brother again one day. He just…he just has to fix this. Somehow. It’s not about how you get into the situation that’s important, it’s how you got out of it. Bruce used to tell him that all the time when he was training to be Robin…then again, he couldn’t even get out of the situation with Bruce. He didn’t even know there was a situation until it was too late. Oh god…

“So you what? Came here anyway?! To what, try and make me remember?! To bring me back?! What is wrong with you?!” Ric yells so loudly that the people inside the station probably hear him. Tim flinches again at the words. Visibly flinches as all the words ring over and over in his head. 

‘What is wrong with you?!’

‘What is wrong with you?!’

‘You don’t know a damn thing!’

“I…I don’t know what’s wrong…with…” Tim tells him in a single gasping breath. What was wrong with him? It must be something. Everyone knew, they had to know or else he wouldn’t be here right now. Why wouldn’t anyone just tell him? How could he fix it if he didn’t know what it was? 

Before he can stop it, tears are falling across his swollen jaw, stinging as they trickle across the worst of the bruising. There is something wrong with him. There has to be. Stuff like this doesn’t happen to normal people, to good people. Ric doesn’t even know him and he can see it. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I came,” Tim mumbles out almost incoherently between gasps and sobs, because he is sorry. He’s sorry he bothered Ric, he’s sorry for seeking him out and for lying to him, but most of all he’s so, so sorry that he ever said anything to Bruce in the first place. 

“Hey…hey, calm down…” Ric tells him, holding a hand out gingerly between them like he wants to touch him but isn’t sure if he can or should. He isn’t angry anymore, at least not in the dynamic, explosive way he had been a moment ago. He looks worried, maybe even a little scared. 

“I don’t know why I did it. Something…something happened and I didn’t know where to go,” Tim explains, looking down at the damp concrete beneath them where his tears continue to disappear into the pavement along with the rainwater. He can’t meet Dick’s…Ric’s eyes, because he knows it’s not a good enough excuse for not honouring his wishes. Ric doesn’t look happy. Why should he be? But his face does soften into something that Tim almost recognizes as his older brother. It’s almost too much to think about. The way his eyes haven’t changed and yet how everything is completely different. 

“Look, I didn’t mean to…” Ric tries, but Tim isn’t done. 

“It’s just…it’s just that I always used to go to you when stuff like this happened and…and…I didn’t expect anything, really I didn’t, I just…I just wanted to see you. I miss you,” Tim confesses, wrapping his arms around his torso as the energy, the will to fight, feels like it drains out of him alongside the admission. Dick’s face never loses that soft sympathy, but his expression changes, hallows, as he looks down at Tim. 

“You miss Dick. I’m not Dick,” He says bitterly. It’s such a dumb thing to say, and it’s annoying and it’s not like Tim doesn’t freaking know that already! It’s all he’s heard about Dick in months, over and over again. Foreign anger flashes through Tim’s whole body, hot and scathing. Anger at Dick, at Ric, at the whole messed up world. 

“Well you were once! You might not be Dick anymore, but you’re still my brother and you’re still my friend and okay, maybe you don’t remember anything, but I still do! I still remember all of it!” Tim screams into the damp air, right into Ric’s face because he knows the man isn’t stupid. He doesn’t understand because he doesn’t want to understand, not because he can’t. He made a choice and didn’t care who he hurt in his wake. “You think this is just some sort of change for you, but what about us?!” Tim demands, watching Ric’s bewildered eyes intently, “What about me?! Where do I go now?! What do I do?!”

“Tim, I…I can’t be him, okay? He’s gone,” Ric says just as simply as before, though his voice seems somehow smaller, softer, as he speaks. If Tim didn’t know him, or at least who he used to be, he’d have missed the hint of regret swimming in his bright blue eyes, but to him it was as clear as day. Tim bites at his cheek softly. Even despite his anger, he knows it’s not really fair to put this on Ric. It’s not his fault he got shot, or that he got brain damage and it certainly isn’t his fault he can’t remember anything. It just…it feels so unfair. It feels unfair. It wasn’t Tim’s fault either. 

“I know…I’m sorry. I am. It’s just not fair,” Tim says, so softly he can barely hear his own words, before unexpectedly breaking into deep painful sobs that make his jaw and neck hurt with every exhale. It isn’t fair. His brother is gone, his dad hates him, his family thinks he’s pathetic and soon, so will his friends. He doesn’t care what he looks like now, or what Ric thinks of him anymore. He doesn’t care that he’s all but crying like a five year old in front of some Bludhaven bus station at some unholy hour of the night while his amnesiac brother looks on with the most scared and confused look Tim has ever seen on his face. 

Ric stands by awkwardly the whole time, but he doesn’t leave. “Tim?” he asks timidly after Tim starts to calm. “Tim?” He tries again when Tim doesn’t answer immediately. 

“What?” Tim asks, his voice raspy and listless between heavy breaths. He draws a sleeve under one eye, the one on the good side of his face, and turns away slightly. Despite not caring a moment ago, the shame is quickly descending upon him as it usually does after he finishes freaking out about something. God, why couldn’t he have just waited until he was in the bus station bathroom or something before crying like that? Like some…like some stupid kid. 

“What did happen to your face?” Tim feels his eyes widen in response. He’d been dreading the question, had thought maybe he’d avoided it altogether. Had hoped. Tim draws in a deep breath, shaking his head despite the pain it causes because he can’t…not to Ric…not to…someone who only wanted to be a complete stranger and nothing more. Especially after crying in front of him already. Ric would think he was pathetic for sure. He probably already does. 

Tim turns swiftly, so quickly it sort of makes his head swim. He just needs to go. Far away. Far, far away from Ric. From Gotham. From anyone or anything with a bat symbol on it. Without even looking at Ric, without any real thought, he takes a couple hurried strides towards the door of the bus station, only avoids breaking into a run because he doesn’t think Ric will follow him. But he only gets a few steps in before a hand lands firmly on his arm and starts to pull him back with a familiar gentleness. 

“It’s late. I have to go,” Tim tells Ric tightly, refusing to do anything more than stand rigidly in place with his back turned to the man. 

“Tim, come on. What happened?” Ric prods lightly. If it had been Dick asking, he would have told him everything, maybe even without the prompting, but it’s not Dick. Dick is gone, as Ric so eloquently put it. Ric means well. He’s being polite, maybe even kind, but that isn’t anywhere near enough. 

“What do you care anyway?! You don’t even know me, remember?! You don’t want to know me,” Tim bites back, ripping his arm out of Ric’s grip harshly and suddenly. At least Ric has the good sense to look guilty over the statement. Tim isn’t sure what he would have done if his brother’s face had been any less sad, if his eyes had looked any less dull and frightened. He stays rooted in place, at least for now. 

“I just…I can’t stand the way you guys look at me. Like I’m supposed to be someone else or…something else,” Ric tries to explain, though he seems to have trouble finding the right words. It could be a residual result of the brain damage, his speech was affected initially according to the medical records, but Tim doesn’t think so. It’s still not a good enough excuse for all the people he’s hurt, the people he’s still hurting. Damian hasn’t been the same. He’s been snappy and secretive and even more unpleasant than normal. And even though Alfred doesn’t say it, Tim can see how sad he is when he looks over at the empty seat that used to be Dick’s. And Bruce…Bruce was…

“Yeah well, you used to look at me like I was more than some random kid on the street, so I guess we’ll just both have to get used to being disappointed” Tim says back snidely. Its mean, maybe too mean, but it’s true. And Ric knows it too, judging by the guilty look and the staggering silence that comes over him. A flask appears in his hand, seemingly out of nowhere. He looks away, eyes aimless. Tim watches as he takes his time opening the metal flask and knocking it back long and slow. 

“That’s fair,” Ric says quietly, nodding shallowly after he swallows. But he says nothing after that. Neither of them say anything for a long time. 

And Tim thinks maybe this is it. Maybe this is where they leave off, the part where they go their separate ways and never speak to one another again. The thought breaks Tim’s heart, but he’d said it himself…he should be used to disappointment by now. He draws in a breath, prepares himself to say one last goodbye to his big brother, the one he never got to say when it actually counted… 

“You…you said we used to go to baseball games? That was us, right?” Ric asks, unsure. He looks scared and vulnerable. Hell, he probably is. It’s the only thing that keeps Tim from walking away that one last time.

“Yeah. That was us,” Tim tells him. He doesn’t mention more. He doesn’t think Ric can handle more, honestly. He doesn’t tell Ric how much they used to look forward to it, or how they’d talk in the car all the way there and all the way back. He doesn’t mention how half the time they’d have so much fun wandering around the stadium people watching and eating junk food that they wouldn’t even know who had won by the time the game was over. 

Tim misses that, so much. It all seem so far away now, the memories so old that they may as well have been filmed in black and white. Things just made more sense then. He was Robin, Dick was nightwing and they were a hell of a team. Now he isn’t even certain he has any family to go to ball games with anymore. It’s not like Damian would have any fun eating pretzels and watching a bunch of grown men play some ‘childish game’. 

“What else?” Ric asks, still sounding unsure of his own question. Tim shrugs with his good shoulder. He doesn’t want to go down memory lane anymore. He’s hurt and exhausted and he isn’t sure he can handle anymore rejection tonight. But…Ric was asking and Tim hadn’t thought he ever would. 

“I don’t know. A lot of things. We had a pizza place near the docks we used to always go to. Just us. I don’t think you ever told anyone else about it,” Tim says dully. Why that was the first memory to come up, he has no idea. 

“You know, I used to um…I used to tell my parents I wanted a little brother. I remember that, kind of,” Ric offers, though still withdrawn, body rigid like he’s apprehensive about even being here any longer. He clutches his flask in his good hand too tightly. Tim is just too worn out to wonder why. Dick never carried a flask on him, he doesn’t know why Ric does. 

“Well…you have three,” Tim tells him. It comes out much more bitter than he’d intended. Ric swallows and nods, takes another drink from his flask, but doesn’t say anything as he looks down at his sleeve. 

“We met before, you know,” Tim says impulsively. It’s enough to draws Ric’s gaze back up, though it now looks like he’s the one who may bolt at any moment. Still, Tim continues. He needs to get this all off his chest one way or another, and he’s in too deep to care about any long-term consequences. “We did. It was before they…before your parents…it was just for a little while before the show. We took a picture. You technically met me before you met Bruce and the others.” 

“I did?” Ric asks, a mix of emotions on his face. Tim doesn’t know what he’s feeling either right now, truth be told. 

“Yeah…I was there the whole time, in the crowd,” Tim tells him absently. He doesn’t know if Ric remembers them falling, or if he remembers the little boy they had taken a picture with before the show, but Tim kind of hopes he doesn’t. Dick still had nightmares about the event even years after it had happened. Even as recently as a few months ago as Tim recalls. It was at the manor, post-patrol. Movie night. Dick fell asleep about ten minutes into the movie only to wake up screaming for his mom about an hour later. It hadn’t taken long to calm him down or anything, after all, they were used to this. But it did freak out Selina a little. 

Tim can almost see Ric digesting the information in front of him. Maybe he remembers, maybe he doesn’t, but the truth is out now and it’s both the scariest thing in the world and the biggest relief he’s felt in ages. Ric hasn’t told him to leave yet either. Some people would say that wasn’t really significant, it just meant the guy wasn’t a complete asshole, but Tim’s standards weren’t really that high after everything that had happened a few hours ago. 

“So, while we’re being honest with each other, will you tell me what happened to your face?” Ric asks, because of course he hasn’t forgotten. Of course. Tim closes his eyes against the sinking feeling in his whole body. It feels like defeat, but more than that. It feels like failure. It feels like heartbreak, and pain. 

“Nothing. It…it was my fault. I…misjudged a situation and…it was my fault,” Tim stammers out eventually. Somehow. His throat is tight again and his jaw aches terribly as he tries to form words. He can feel the stinging in his eyes that precedes tears, though he’d be surprised if he has any left after already bawling his eyes out. In front of Ric. He shouldn’t have cried anyway. He was being dramatic. It was his fault. He knew Bruce was hurting. He knew why. He knew that it was gonna take more than a pat on the shoulder and a few words to ease any of that pain. He knew he wasn’t Bruce’s favorite, that he wasn’t even real family. He wasn’t even really Robin anymore…but he still hadn’t expected…

“Just tell me,” Ric says. He sounds so much like Dick. Looks so much like Dick in that moment, and not just because they were literally identical, but because of the look in his eyes, the compassion laced into his words. And Tim crumbles under it all. 

“Bruce…Bruce hit me,” Tim says, quiet and stunned hearing the words out loud. Oh god…Bruce hit him. He hit him so hard and…and Tim had just tried to help. 

“What? But he’s…he’s like our dad, isn’t he?” Ric asks, wide eyed and concerned. Tim just nods, because his lip quivers too much for him to say anything. It hurts to anyway. It was his, their, dad, wasn’t it? Neither of them have another one. But he can’t freak out completely. He’s already done that, hasn’t he? Ric will never respect him…will never understand. He doesn’t understand the situation. He doesn’t know Bruce anymore. But once, not that long ago, he did. He understood and he was always there no matter what. “Is there…anything I can…?” 

Tim is moving before he can stop himself, wrapping his arms around Dick…Ric’s neck, resting his head on a shoulder as the first quiet wave of tears escapes him. It’s a slow release of tears at least. Not the deep gasping sobs like the last time. Not the angry release of emotion halfway between sorrow and desperation. 

Ric tenses initially, violently even, as Tim’s hands tighten into his clothing. But he relaxes after a moment, bringing an arm up to pat Tim’s back as he cries. Tim can feel the jagged edge of the flask still in Ric’s hand, can smell the unfamiliar scent of leather and stale beer on his hoodie. It’s a stark reminder that this probably isn’t okay. Tim’s only a stranger to Ric. He’s nobody. But…Ric did say anything and for some reason, Ric doesn’t push him away. 

“I…I’m sorry,” Tim says again as he pulls away slowly, quickly collects himself, “I just…it was a bad night. I’m sorry I bothered you. I won’t do it again if you ask me not to. Really,” he says in almost a whisper, sniffling and drying his eyes as best he can. 

“It’s okay…” Ric says just as quietly as he stands in front of him. 

“It’s not. I know you told us not to come back here,” Tim tells him. That had hurt to hear, that Dick didn’t want anything to do with them. Bruce just kept telling them that Dick would be fine and to leave him alone, but…how could they do that to family? Ric wasn’t even taking care of himself properly, and apparently Tim wasn’t the only one who thought so. But still…Ric has asked them…

“No really, it’s okay,” Ric says. It’s vague, Tim isn’t really certain how ‘okay’ Ric means, but it is honest. Tim can tell. That earnest look is swimming in his eyes again, that concerned but gentle look that had earned him so many friends and allies over the years. Ric shifts uncomfortably a moment before looking down, swiping his free hand behind an ear, which is an odd gesture seeing as Ric doesn’t have hair long enough to brush away, “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you back to Gotham, or like…call anyone? I mean not…not Bruce, obviously, but there’s more of us, right? The little one and…um…”

“Jason. He’s between us,” Tim tells him, his heart aching a little that Dick had forgotten about Jason and Damian of all people, “Damian is the little one.”

“We could call Jason, if you want?” Ric offers with a shrug and a quick glance at his flask. He wants to drink from it, judging by the small twitch of his hand. It’s a nervous twitch. Tim’s guess is he doesn’t want Jason, or any other former family members, showing up tonight. Demanding things, looking at him like he’s still supposed to be the same person he was before. But he was still willing to call and that meant more than enough. 

“No. I’ll be okay,” Tim tells him, for Ric’s own sake but also because he doesn’t want to call Jason either. Jason was having his own problems with Bruce at the moment and things could get…explosive pretty quickly. Besides, he had a place to go already. “Really. I feel better now. I just need to get off of the east coast for a while.”

“You really do have friends you’re gonna stay with? You weren’t making that up?” Ric asks, skeptical but not accusatory. He gives in to the urge to take another small sip from his flask. 

“They’re real. And they really are good friends,” Tim assures him. Even despite his reluctance to return to them and explain everything, how he’d gone to Gotham, how Bruce…had hit him, he really couldn’t ask for better friends. 

“Okay. Just…take care of yourself, alright?” Ric says awkwardly with a shrug that Tim’s pretty sure was supposed to be casual, but just comes off as stiff and unsure. 

“I will,” Tim says, much calmer now than he has been all night. It sucks to have to leave things here with Ric, but…

“Hey, Tim?” Ric asks, lips pursed in thought. Tim finds hesitant blue eyes boring into his own, though what more could Ric want to know? 

“Yeah?” Tim asks, sure his own eyes look just as apprehensive as Ric’s. 

“You got a pen and paper?” Ric asks quickly, trying not to overthink the question. Tim quirks an eyebrow at the unusual request, but…what can playing along hurt? 

“Yeah, of course…” Tim says, fishing a pen and a small notebook out of his backpack almost automatically. Somehow it doesn’t sting as bad looking at the Gotham Knights logo as it did even just an hour ago. He finds an empty page, places the items into Ric’s open, outstretched hand. 

“This isn’t my cell number, but…text this number when you get to San Francisco. Or if you get into trouble or anything. I’ll get the message,” Ric says, his eyes focused hard on the piece of paper as he writes down, presumably, some sort of phone number. 

He stares down at the page with wide eyes when Ric hands it back, not believing what he’s seeing. It’s an actual phone number. He has no idea whose, but someone who Ric knows. Someone local, judging by the area code. That’s…that was still so much more than he’d hoped for. Especially after getting caught in his own web of lies. Tim is moved, even if Ric is pointedly not looking at him. It’s symbolic, he thinks. A line of communication, even if not a direct one. Maybe even an olive branch? 

“Do you think…I mean, I know you aren’t Dick anymore, but do you think maybe…there’s a chance you would let me get to know you again? As Ric?” Tim asks hopefully. He watches Ric carefully, sees the sharp intake of breath, the apprehension and stiffness in his shoulders that wasn’t there a moment ago. It was too much. He’d overstepped. “Nevermind, forget I asked,” Tim says quickly, too quickly, tucking away the notebook and the pen that had once ironically belonged to Dick back into the front pocket of his backpack. 

“I don’t…I don’t know,” Ric says. Tim had expected anger, but instead Ric seems like he’s having some sort of internal struggle. His eyes flicker and he opens his mouth twice before he actually speaks any words, “You seem like a good kid, you really do and…I’m sorry you lost him…me…I don’t know,” he says hopelessly, clutching a hand tight around his flask. 

“You don’t know if we can get to know each other?” Tim asks, unsure if the question, if any question, would be appropriate. He tries not to sound disappointed, though if he’d actually pulled it off, he couldn’t say. 

“…I don’t know who I am,” Ric says, finally giving in to temptation and taking a long drink from his flask. He looks troubled. Tim can only guess at his thoughts, can only imagine what it could be like for him walking around not knowing even the most basic facts about yourself. 

“I know you don’t. That’s okay,” Tim tries to reassure him. Because it is okay. Ric went from being elementary school aged to legal drinking aged literally overnight. Some people live their whole lives as themselves and still don’t know who they are. Alfred had told him that once, not so long ago when he was questioning his own status as ‘the other Robin’. It was understandable that Ric wouldn’t know. Tim thinks he could help him. If he wanted. They could help each other maybe. 

“It’s just not a good idea. What if…” Ric starts, but cuts himself off with a frown and another sip from his flask. 

“What if what?” Tim prods gently. 

“What if you don’t like who I am now? What then?” Ric asks with a sad little shrug, “what happens when you realize I’m not Dick?” he adds with the smallest of quivers in his voice. His eyes look anywhere but at Tim, and he doubts it’s because of the angry bruise covering his face. 

“You don’t have to be Dick. I just said that,” Tim points out. Ric doesn’t give much of a reaction though and it takes Tim a long moment to realize it’s because that wasn’t the reassurance he was hoping for. He knows he can’t be Dick anymore, even if he wants to be. A strange thought enters Tim’s mind, now that he’s calm enough to think straight again. A hypothesis that doesn’t make sense, yet is the only thing that actually does make sense at the same time. 

“Unless…are you afraid of not being Dick?” Tim asks, the words heavy on his tongue. Ric lets out a bitter but unconvincing laugh into the cold night air. 

“I…I’m not afraid of anything, never mind disappointing a bunch of people I don’t even know anymore,” he says with a sort of bravado that can only be false. He takes another long swig from his flask, but coughs when he tries to take too much at once. It smells like tequila. Donna turned him on to that years ago when he was still in his teens, though Tim knows for a fact that Dick told Bruce it was after he turned twenty-one. 

“If it makes you feel any better, you can’t disappoint me anymore than anyone else has,” Tim says. It was meant to be funny, offhanded and happy-go-lucky like it would have been a few years ago when Dick was Nightwing and he was still the only Robin, but it comes out dark and twisted. Sad. It seems to hit Ric hard. Hard enough for Ric to finally meet his eyes full on again. 

“God, Tim. I’m sorry. You don’t need to be worrying about my problems. Are you sure you don’t want to stay? I could take you to the clinic…it looks pretty bad,” He says with that same earnest look that he could never really hide behind a poker face. His big brothers look, even if he called himself something else now. 

“I’ll live. Nothings broken,” Tim assures him, maybe even feeling a tiny bit confident about the fact. 

“Just your trust, huh?” Ric says. Maybe it was meant as a joke or something less…direct, but the statement hits home in a way Tim hadn’t been ready for. Tim feels a treacherous tear escape thinking about how true that statement is. He just hadn’t thought Bruce could ever do something like that. Not to him. Not after everything they’ve been through. Broken trust was right. He was questioning everything now. Had he and Dick really been that close? Was he ever really family? Was he even really Robin? 

Ric hovers, calmly and rests a hand on Tim’s shoulder until he collects himself. It’s enough to ground him at least, remind him that maybe there are people who still care, people he can maybe still trust not to turn on him for any small offense. After all, Ric had every right to be mad at him, storm out, never talk to him again…hit him. But he was still here. 

“Okay now?” Ric asks after a minute or two. 

“Yeah. Yeah I will be,” Tim says, even managing to put on a small smile for his brothers benefit. Ric looks unconvinced, but not like he’s going to push it any further. 

“Okay,” Ric says simply, before shuffling his feet a bit under the dim glow of the bus station lights, “Hey, look, um, if you’re ever back in Bludhaven…look me up. Just you though, not the others,” Ric says, eyes once again focusing on anything other than Tim. He takes a swig from his bottle, but Tim barely notices once the words reach his ears, “I can’t promise you anything or…I mean, I’m not him anymore…” Ric stumbles over his words, but it all sounds like a symphony to Tim. 

“No! No, that’s okay. I said I wanted to get to know you again, whoever you are now, and I meant it,” Tim assures him quickly. He does mean it, of course he does. As much as he misses Dick, and as much as a part of him always will, he really does want to know Ric. He’s still his brother and after witnessing his actions tonight, Tim knows he’s still a good person, a hero deep down. 

“Take care of yourself out there, okay?” Ric says with a nod and a small half-smile. Tim smiles back, softly, despite the pain. 

“Sure Ric. And…take care of yourself too, okay? Don’t’ drink and drive?” He asks, carefully, though feels he still has to ask. Ric takes it well enough, smiling playfully for a brief moment as he regards the flask still clutched in his hand. 

“I’ll be good and camp out here tonight,” He assures Tim with a small exhale that almost sounds like a laugh. He caps the flask, slipping it into his pocket to exchange it for a set of keys. “You have a good trip, alright? Don’t forget to text me and…and…” Ric pauses, thinks, then seems to give up, “see you next time, Timmy,” He says simply, his eyes nearly brimming with affection before he starts to retreat. 

“See you next time, Ric.” Tim says mostly into the night air as he watches Ric saunter off back towards his dilapidated old cab. But the air feels lighter now, almost…almost hopeful. 

Tim turns towards the bus station, pulling up his hood and clutching his backpack tight over one shoulder. His backpack that held not only his Robin suit, but a notebook that had instantly become his favorite. It hadn’t taken long to find Ric, and it would be some time before he planned on losing him ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took forever, but...it's a chapter. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope this was at least enjoyable for those who stuck with it. It's sort of my own answer to the frustrating canon storyline going on at the moment. Apparently we've had Ric for a year now. 
> 
> Anyway, as always, thank you so much for everyone who left kudos, bookmarked or (especially) commented! It's great motivation to get off my butt and actually write something! 
> 
> Anyhow, I'll be working on getting the sequel to 'the ritual' out for Halloween this year. Hopefully everything goes to plan!

**Author's Note:**

> Wow it has been awhile since I've written anything! I'm not really happy with this one, but the comics haven't really addressed the events of Batman #71 or the whole Ric Grayson thing outside of the 'Nightwing' series and I felt like it was too big of a plot hole with too much potential to not write about. This fic is pretty much written and will be about 3 chapters total. 
> 
> As per usual, if you see any mistakes please let me know.


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